


L’hiver est là qui montre les crocs…

by Superstition_hockey



Series: Pee-Wee League [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, In a non typical way, Luc's Adrenaline Addiction, Luc's general weirdness, M/M, Post Hockey Career Struggles, Relationship Study, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Sort of? - Freeform, Sports, honestly i have no idea how to tag this, ish, mountain climbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 07:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey
Summary: Well. I woke up this morning with the actual burning need to write this.  It's not what I'm trying to finish writing, but, here is a story about Luc and Jacks and life after hockey.  Also, this fic has the weirdest sex scene I've ever written, and I didn't tag for breath play because that's not exactly what happens in this, but just to be safe be aware that there is some ... suffocation or like...limited oxygen intake during exercise stuff in this fic? Also, my god please don't try this at home.





	L’hiver est là qui montre les crocs…

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I woke up this morning with the actual burning need to write this. It's not what I'm trying to finish writing, but, here is a story about Luc and Jacks and life after hockey. Also, this fic has the weirdest sex scene I've ever written, and I didn't tag for breath play because that's not exactly what happens in this, but just to be safe be aware that there is some ... suffocation or like...limited oxygen intake during exercise stuff in this fic? Also, my god please don't try this at home.

If you win more Stanley Cup rings than you can wear on one hand, they get pretty chill about when the Cup can come visit. Really at this point, all Luc has to do is _text_ the guy and, barring some kind of event, The Cup could probably come visit for a few days. 

The first few years after retirement Luc did that a few times. It was nice, in its own way, but never anything like actually winning the Cup. When you touch the Cup on ice, soaked with sweat, half-dead with exhaustion, limping, in pain, elated, transported, joyous, transcendent, The Cup warm and thrumming with energy, the moment is sacred. 

Holding the Cup on the dock outside your house, drinking a beer with your husband, and talking about whether the roof needs re-shingling this year or next…. It’s nice. There's nothing wrong with it, but it’s also… mundane. There's a softness to it, the pleasantness of memory and nostalgia. Bending your husband over the Cup in the bedroom is also very nice. And there's nostalgia in that, too. A lot of good memories. But Luc's more into making new memories than reliving old ones, especially where Jacks is concerned so it's nice, but not something they keep doing. 

And then, of course, Luc found mountain climbing, which he never really loves the way he loved hockey, but that's not really the point. Hockey was about the love of the game. Mountain climbing was about finally finding a way to keep _striving_ after retirement. About pushing his body. About how, deep down, Lucs always been obsessed with finding the limits of his body's skill and conditioning. 

In their fight, in what is and probably always will be, their worst fight, Jacks called him self-obsessed for that. Selfish. Self-absorbed. Thoughtless. A narcissist who cared more about his own body and his next adrenaline fix than his family.

Luc called him disloyal for not coming with him, like he has every other time Luc has said, "Come with me to the top," and Jacks had. He didn't know how to say it, but what had hurt the worst was that Jacks had always understood him before. Why didn't he understand him now? 

Jacks said, "For fuck sakes, Luc, why couldnt you just buy a sportscar and fuck a secretary like every other douchebag going through a midlife crisis."

The kids had been out with Crash, thankfully, and hadn't heard any of it. Luc had dinner with them all, when they came home, Jacks and him managing to not be too frosty at the table, and then Luc went to Mammoth for a few weeks to train, and then Switzerland, and then it was time to head to base camp and Jacks had met him at the airport, hugged him, and said, "If you die, you selfish son of a bitch, I will never forgive you, do you understand?" 

Luc had still been mad. In retrospect he was, absolutely, being an unforgivable shithead, but he'd been hurt and desperate-feeling, desperate for a feeling he’d thought he’d never feel outside a postseason. People had always said playoffs were like climbing Everest. He hadn't realized how much he needed it, craved that struggle. How terrifying the thought of the rest of his life looming ahead of him without it would feel. 

He hadn’t really understood what he was running from, running to, at the time. 

On the mountain, he almost died. The dead bodies as way markers. The sickening cold. The lack of air. The storm. Everest was terrible. And beautiful. Addicting and engrossing and then shocking when, dizzy with altitude sickness, numb with pain, his own mortality had finally, finally realized itself to him. 

He might die. Truly, honestly, really, he might actually die. Now. Huddled up in a bivouac with a German aerospace engineer and a _National Geographic_ photographer, having not seen his kids in months, with a husband who he'd left heartbroken and angry and alone, Luc has a sobering rearrangement of perspective. 

Luc had been an asshole. Was an asshole. He told Jacks he was an asshole from his sat phone on the top of the tallest mountain in the world. Luc was an idiot and Jacks was a gift. Precious and amazing and not to be squandered or ignored and Luc was sorry, down to his frozen, aching bones. He spent so long apologizing on the summit he stayed too long and then almost died again coming back down. 

He'd lived. And he'd groveled. Jacks forgave him. They went to Luc’s sports psychologist. They apologized for the hurtful things they’d said to each other. They cried and hugged and Luc promised, as he had on the summit, to never ever climb a mountain again if Jacks would forgive him. 

At first, it was an easy promise to keep. 

The kids were mostly too young to know what had been going on, except Sasha, who was definitely old enough to know his dad was an ass, but was also somewhat removed from it by being in England which was just as far from Canada as Nepal, and much more interested, as a teen, in his own interpersonal school dramas, than what country his papa was skyping him from. They all travel so much, and Luc had spoken to them on Skype all the time, something they were all already used to with Crash, so nothing had been all that very different from normal variations for the kids. But Luc had still felt so guilty, when he came home, that he could barely forgive himself. Jacks had found him sitting over Bells’ crib, wiping his wet eyes. 

They'd gone to England, after that because Luc just needed to see Sasha in the flesh and couldn't wait for the next school holiday. Sasha, who'd been full of teen aged eye rolling until wiping the floor with him in tennis. "It's alright," he'd said handing Luc a Gatorade, "Getting a good serve takes practice. Will you take me to a track day this summer with the lambo?"

So a whole year went by and Luc never even thought about K2 or Annapurna or Kilimanjaro or the Matterhorn, of cold dry air and prayer flags. He went on Dancing with the Stars. He took care of his kids. 

He devised increasingly hard workouts on the stationary bike. 

Then Crash got bit by a shark and Luc was so mad at her for the fear in his kids’ eyes at the hospital, that he went and put his head in Jacks’ lap in the hotel room in Johannesburg that night and cried. 

He talked to his therapist about balancing desire and ambition and fearlessness and greatness, about wanting his kids to be fearless, like their mother, like him. But also… for them to feel loved. Like the most important things in his life. Not ever second to their parents’ pride and ambition. 

Bells is afraid the water and Luc spends a summer teaching her to not be afraid that her mother's going to be eaten by sea monsters, teaching her to run fearless into the little waves, while forgiving himself for wanting to stand at the top of the world. Telling himself that if he has a kid who wants to summit K2 when they're grown, he won't ever let himself feel anything but pride. He takes Sasha to a race track and someone teaches them how to drive _fast_. Safely. In something with a roll cage. He and Luc get gelato afterwards, and Luc talks to him about pushing yourself. About risk, and risk management.

Jacks forgives him all over again and Luc is happy and doesn’t realize he's slowly going a little stir crazy in the autumn until he finds himself googling "how to beat yoga, max level." 

Jacks ties him up and edges him for hours, a few days later. Luc comes so hard he almost blacks out, and doesn’t think about gasping for air when there isn’t any, about unshakeable cold, for weeks. 

Luc takes up swimming. He can mix it with the stationary bike in combinations that aren’t too hard on his knee. 

They do some bicycle tours. Jacks doesn’t mind those, a day of cycling through pretty towns that normally ends in hotels and vineyards. 

Jacks is famous all over again for writing a book about a spaceship captain having a midlife crisis and Luc keeps winding up on the cover of sports magazines that say he's the best athlete of the century, and besides all that they have kids, and life is busy. 

Christmas they spend with family, all of them all together, just like Luc wanted and it’s good. 

In January, Luc has a physical and Jacks tags along with him. On the drive in, he asks Luc, "After your physical today, can I ask your doctor some questions?"

"Uh, sure?"

"In private."

"Yeah, but they might make you need to make an appointment if you need to be seen for something." Luc looks over at him. "Why are you looking so squirrely?"

"Nothing. And not about me. About you."

"You want to ask my doctor medical questions about me, in private?"

"Yes."

"You could just ask me."

"No, I need to talk to your doctor about something, not you. You wouldn't know. Do you trust me?"

"Yeah sure, I don’t care, Jacks, it's just weird and now I'm curious."

"It's for a surprise."

"Oh." Luc grins. "I like surprises. Carry on."

Jacks rolls his eyes. 

Luc has his physical and then tells the doctor, "Jacks wants to ask invasive questions about my health while I'm not here. I don't mind, do you need me to sign a form before you guys go off and talk about me?" 

Luc’s doctor is used to them, so he just rolls his eyes and takes Jacks off to his office. 

Fifteen minutes later a nurse comes in and does an EKG, then takes him for a chest x-ray. 

Ten minutes after that the doctor comes in wheeling an ultrasound machine on a cart. "Ummm..." Luc says when the doctor smears blue gel on his chest. 

"Am I dying?" Luc asks as he watches his heart lub-dub-lub-dub slow and steady on the wavering screen. 

"Only of idiocy," his doctor replies, then stands and says, "You can put your clothes back on, we’re done. You're healthy as a horse."

"You're being really mysterious," Luc tells Jacks in the car ride back. 

"You’ll like it," Jacks says and kisses his cheek. 

Jacks books them a couples getaway for Valentine’s Day in a luxury cabin outside Banff. 

Luc looks at pictures of the cabin on the flight. "Wow," he says, feeling squirmy and fond looking at the fireplace, huge bed, and hot tub. Jacks loves him so much. Luc is so lucky. Also, he definitely saw Jacks put his rope in his suitcase. 

Everything is pre-stocked and Jacks makes them a late dinner that night when they arrive. Luc checks the weather app after they sign off of family group Skype time. "We got here just in time; it looks like it’s going to snow tomorrow."

"Yup." Jacks smirks, looking like he knows a secret. 

Luc squints. "Lazy day tomorrow in front of the fireplace?" 

"Something like that. Dessert?"

The next day Luc does his normal morning exercise routine before Jacks gets up. Makes breakfast and coffee and smoothies. They call their kids. Wash the dishes. Take a nap on the couch, in front of the fire, watching the snow come down. Luc wakes up to Jacks wrapped around behind him, hands stroking his torso, dick hard against Luc’s ass. 

"Yeah?" Luc asks, rolling under him, pulling Jacks on top of him. Slow, sleepy frotting sounds pretty good. 

"Actually," Jacks tells him between kisses, "I had a plan for today. I wanted to try something special."

"Oh?" Luc grins, remembering the rope in Jacks' luggage. "You wanna tie me up?" 

Jacks kisses him again. "Later on. I actually wanna try something new."

Luc sits up. New? He sort of thought he and Jacks had already found every way to fuck each other they might like. New was good. 

Jacks always makes the best plays. 

Jacks climbs off him, stands, adjusting his boner in his jeans. "I want to do something new, and I want it to be a little bit of a surprise. Can you do what I tell you to today, Luc?"

"Yes," Luc says, already a little breathless. 

"Good. What's your safe word, sweetheart?"

"Safe word." Luc grins back. "Or the stoplights."

"Okay. And what do you do if you can't talk?"

"Slap your thigh, or tap something three times." 

"Good boy." Jacks kisses him again. "Go put on clean workout clothes and meet me in the gym, all right?"

When Luc walks into the cabin’s home fitness room, Jacks is already there, but he's not in gym clothes. He's still in jeans and a flannel shirt. And he's holding three things in his hand.

Holy shit.

"Put this on," Jacks says, handing him a heart monitor strap for his chest. 

And then the weighted vest to go around it, heavy over his shoulders. Heavier than the ones Luc normally uses. 

Luc puts it on but his eyes barely stray from the other thing in Jacks’ hands. 

It’s an oxygen inhibitor mask. 

Jacks puts it over his face. "This is going to limit your oxygen supply," Jacks says calmly as he adjusts the strap. "You're going to get on the treadmill, and you're going to stay on it until I say you're done, okay?" 

Fuck. 

Luc sort of expects Jacks to crank the speed up on the treadmill for sprints, like preseason camp, like the combine. Instead he keeps it slow and steady, and cranks the incline all the way up. 

It feels like no big deal at first but in minutes Luc is breathing hard. 

Then he’s gasping. 

Jacks keeps talking to him, encouraging him. He has his tablet out, like a trainer, watching Luc’s heart rate, watching his O2 levels. 

Jacks increases the pace, just a little. Luc’s lungs are burning, fighting for air that isn’t there. 

He’s sweating. 

He hits a runner’s high at about the 25 minute mark and starts to fly. 

"That’s it. Luc, you're so good," he hears Jacks say. 

He jogs and walks and walks and jogs and runs, an endless push on an endless incline, gasping for air, Jacks’ voice in his ear. Jacks keeps setting little goals for him. Five more minutes. Another five. Then faster. Then slower. He switches Luc over to the stair climb for a while and then herds him back to the inclined treadmill, turns the incline down into the negative numbers so Luc's running downhill, quads screaming to keep control. 

Then he builds it back up again. 

When he finally tells Luc to stop, Luc has forgotten what a full breath of air feels like. He doesn't know how long it's been. An hour? Hours? He’s soaked through his clothes with sweat. He’s gasping and trembling, wet hair and stinging sweat in his eyes obscuring his vision. 

Jacks guides him, softly, gently out of the room. Hands move his limbs and he’s being dressed. Coat. Snowpants. Boots. 

"Too hot. Stop. Stop. Too hot," he gasps through the mask. 

"Are you safewording?" Jacks asks. His voice is still calm as he pulls gloves onto Luc’s hands. 

Luc shakes his head, but whines, "Hot, Jacks, too hot." He's suffocating. 

"Not for long," Jacks says, shoves a toque on his head, and then pushes him out the back door of the cabin.

Luc reels back as the cold hits him. The fucking blizzard outside, temps easily at -30 and hard, fine little snow blowing at vicious speeds. 

"Walk," he hears Jacks shout over the wind and his hand is firm and solid between Luc's shoulder blades. "Walk, Luc."

Luc walks. The sudden cold, his trembling, lactic acid-filled limbs... Luc’s legs shake with every step, but he walks. He’s not sure how he’s walking. He still can’t breathe, can't see with the snow. Can barely make his weak rubbery legs cooperate enough to put one in front of the other. 

But he does. Jacks says walk, so he does. 

At one point, he falls down into the snow. Jacks pulls him up. 

"Keep walking," Jacks says, so Luc does. He has a goal. He has Jacks’ hand, steady on his shoulder the whole time, steering hin, holding him, guiding him. 

Eventually out of the white blur, a brown door appears in front of Luc’s face. Luc fumbles at the knob, but his hands don't work well enough to turn it. Jacks reaches around him, pushes the door open, and Luc stumbles in. 

It’s warm, and Luc falls forward. 

Somehow Jacks is in jeans again. Luc stares at the pattern of the weave from where he’s kneeling on the ground, head swimming with the sudden warmth, and then Jacks is lifting him up, pulling him out of his coat, stripping him out of the vest and down to his sweat-soaked clothes, and then strips him out of those too. 

His hands, warm and sure and steady, take the mask off of Luc’s face and suddenly air fills his lungs as he reflectively gasps, lungs expanding and filling. 

Luc can hardly think, he hurts and he’s exhausted, and oxygen has never tasted sweeter, and Jacks' hand slides down his torso, grasp Luc's cock and Luc shudders under his hands. 

"That’s it," Jacks says, "You’ve done such a good job, you did so good, I’m so proud of you, you did just what I asked, go on, Luc, come, you deserve it."

Luc comes. And then promptly passes out. 

When he wakes up, he’s lying in a nest of blankets on an air mattress on the floor of a fucking ice shack. There’s a heater and a radio, the monotonous rumble of a generator, and Jacks is sitting next to him, fingers combing through his hair. 

"Is this a fucking fishing shack?" Luc grumbles into Jacks’ hand.

"Yup, you wanna see if anything’s biting later?"

"My bones are gone." Luc pouts. 

"That was the goal. Here, sit up a little, I’ve got tea for you." 

He eases Luc up and holds a cup to his mouth. The scent overtakes him at the same time the taste floods his mouth. 

Assam. Milk. Salt. Butter. Luc suddenly, wildly, would not even be remotely surprised if Jacks arranged for it to somehow be fucking yak’s milk, too, just for the accuracy. He snuggles down into the silky unzipped sleeping blanket serving as one of the blankets. 

He feels like he got beat into the ground and bag skated until he puked. He feels like the day after a Cup win. Jacks loves Luc so much. 

Luc doesn't even really realize he’s started, but somehow he’s crying. Just a little. 

"Hey, hey," Jacks says setting the tea down, "how are you, mon chum?"

"Je t'aime." Luc cries and kisses Jacks’ hand and Jacks strokes his cheek

"I know, Chants, I know. I love you, too, and I know what you need, okay? I'm going to take care of you. Finish drinking your tea."

Luc does. Then falls back asleep. 

When he wakes up, his head is in Jacks’ lap, and Jacks is doing a crossword puzzle 

"I can’t believe you walked us out to a fucking shack in a whiteout blizzard," he mumbles. Then frowns. "Wait, was it really snowing that hard or was I just way fucked up?"

"It’s still snowing that hard, but there was a line I had them set up before we got in last night. It runs from the house to here; I had my other hand on it the whole time." He tugs Luc’s hair lightly. "I’m not going to walk us out into a blizzard without being sure we're going the right way, Luc." 

"I know." Luc sighs, content. "Best plays, Jacks."

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is a line from a Manu Chao song called "L'hiver est là"
> 
> Also. Just to add, everything about this fic is a terrible idea in real life, and also please suspend your disbelief regarding who turns on the generator and makes the shack all nice and warm before they get there. Maybe in the future its remote controlled. Maybe Jacks turns it on with his phone.


End file.
